


A Sculptor's Dream

by seriaan



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, Manhandling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Difference, Strength Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5260418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriaan/pseuds/seriaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You've been watching me ever since I got back from New Zealand. By me, I obviously mean my smokin’ hot new bod."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sculptor's Dream

**Author's Note:**

> A (self-indulgent) PWP that takes place in some AU version of the period after Chris wrapped up filming _Z for Zachariah_. I wasn't sure how to tag this exactly, but the tags up there are the closest things and the title isn't the greatest, I know! Hope the porn makes up for it!

"You've been watching me ever since I got back from New Zealand. By me, I obviously mean my smokin’ hot new bod."

Zach pauses. Slides his eyes to the left a little and finds Chris's reflection in the bathroom mirror casually leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. Chris had always been of a leaner build, his muscles understated but well-maintained, something similar to Zach's, but now that leanness is half-gone, the bulk of his body more overt, and there's no way to avoid the pronounced bulge of his biceps, the broadness of his shoulders, the way his t-shirt clings more emphatically to his solid torso these days like it's a jealous lover trying to warn Zach away. The way Zach's mouth goes a little dry at noticing all of this.

It’s true, is the thing. Zach _has_ been watching him. He hasn’t really been trying hard to hide it -- not when they’ve fallen into bed more than a few times now -- and he hasn’t expected Chris not to notice, because, for all the stuff Chris doesn’t say, he operates with an awareness people don’t always think to attribute to him, too blinded by the pretty looks.

“The damning silence says it all,” Chris adds, smiling knowingly. “The jury has deliberated and finds you guilty as charged, Mr. Quinto.”

Zach says, “Objection, your honor. Jury consists entirely of clones of a conceited blond douchebag with atrocious vocab and is thus grossly unreliable, not to mention just gross in general.” He places his toothbrush in its usual spot without looking away, then turns around to give Chris the most affronted expression he has in his arsenal. "I allow you to stay in my home for a few days and this is what I get? Slanderous accusations of stalking and spying?”

“Hey, I only mentioned the spying, but since you’ve brought up stalking, I can only assume _you_ were the shadow by my refrigerator a few nights ago. Also--" Chris unfolds his arms and begins moving toward him, "--has anyone told you you’re really cute when you’re deflecting?"

Zach pointedly doesn’t look anywhere but Chris's face, but even that has its prodigious dangers. The eyes-inspiring-florid-metaphors and mouth-deserving-of-its own-stream-of-consciousness-paragraph kind of dangers, all related in the appropriately serious voice of a nature documentary narrator.

"I'm always cute," he starts saying, just to be extra pointed about not paying attention to Chris's body, "that's like a law of my exist-- _don't_ even think about it, Pine," only it's too late or maybe it's obvious Zach only half-means it or Chris was going to ignore him anyway, his grip firm against the skin of Zach's hips as he easily hoists him onto the countertop. His large, hot palms stay there and the touch sends off an immediate, sharp zip throughout Zach's body.

Chris murmurs, "Gotcha."

Zach places his hands on Chris's shoulders, feeling the firmness of them, pressing his fingers in a little. "Amazing feat of strength, Christopher. Whatever will you do next."

Chris just smiles some more, a complete distraction, and it's like some sort of weakness every time, that smile -- it grabs Zach, makes him want to cave into it, and he's on the brink of doing just that, when Chris pulls him forward roughly, their half-hard cocks crashing together, and oh, God, that moment of impact is like a small, bright explosion that makes Zach’s blood sing and his legs lock around Chris's waist to prolong that song. His breath shudders as it leaves him and heads straight into Chris's voracious mouth and clever tongue.

Chris manages to get his hands under Zach and then lifts, holding him a couple of inches above the countertop while they kiss. It forces Zach’s legs to instinctively tighten around Chris, forces a muffled groan out of him, too.

"Fucking show-off," Zach says without heat. "There's a perfectly decent counter for me to sit on."

Chris grins briefly and Zach bites at him, but Chris doesn’t stop there, walking them back into the bedroom and unceremoniously throwing Zach onto the bed so quick, he's almost on the verge of dizziness. It doesn't stop him from blurting out, "I need you on top of me right now," and Chris is there instantly, his teeth scraping against Zach’s lower lip before their mouths lock together again.

Under the impatient guidance of Chris’s hands, Zach’s t-shirt disappears fast, his pants following, and then that long line of perfect, gorgeous muscle -- clothed, why is Chris still _wearing clothes_? -- is covering Zach, pressing him down into the mattress.

“Yeah,” Zach says in a gratified moan, savoring that weight. “Yeah, this is what I want.”

Chris scatters kisses across Zach’s jaw-line, nudges his head back to get at his throat, then collarbone, sucking bruises wherever he goes. “Should’ve just told me,” he says to the heart beat trying to escape from Zach’s throat. “Would’ve hauled you into bed the night I got here.”

“On some rare occasions,” Zach pants out, “I’m not very sensible.” His hands slide down the length of Chris’s back, yank at the bottom of his t-shirt. “ _Skin_.”

Chris's mouth quirks, a small smirk. He doesn’t rush stripping himself and Zach watches him as if it’s the first time he’s seen Chris naked, as if Chris's body is not one he's already touched and kissed, a body for which he has a well of appreciation that never runs dry and that has recently overflowed to flood the rest of Zach with a constant, thrumming arousal.

Thick arms and thick thighs, a broad and chiseled torso, a large, long cock, flushed red and hard, that demands by its very existence to have Zach's mouth sealed around it. For the thousandth time, Zach finds himself acknowledging that Chris Pine is a sculptor's dream.

"Fucking gorgeous," he says. "Saw pics of you on the set. I wanted to lick every part of you.”

"Maybe later," Chris says, crawling on top of him, the corner of his mouth still slightly pulled up.

Zach's earlier thought about nature documentaries comes back to him: flashing images of tigers and leopards on the hunt, their measured stalk, the powerful muscles flowing elegantly beneath their fur. He reaches down, finds the flare of hipbones, the roundness of Chris’s ass, and slowly feels his way up until his fingers are winding around Chris's biceps. “I don’t wanna wait."

"Yeah," Chris breathes out. Those eyes, darkly lit, smoldering, scald Zach with each second they look at him. "We're not waiting," and then it's a matter of seconds before Zach's spreading his legs, holding one up against his chest, exposing himself for Chris's slick fingers to move in and out a familiar pattern.

“More, more," he mutters under his breath, pushing down into those adroit fingers. Chris alternates between meeting Zach's eyes and glancing down at his own fingers working Zach open, the look of hungry concentration on his face one that's synonymous with turning Zach into a wild mess. It's a hurried preparation - Zach likes the burn and Chris likes the tightness - and when Chris's fingers leave him soon after, Zach bites back his automatic outburst, knowing he won't be left empty and untouched for long. That first slide is coming, that perfect first slide. Sure enough, there's promising pressure at his slack hole, then his body is giving way to the fat cockhead pressing into him, and, fuck, _yes_ , every inch of Chris's cock spreading him open, filling up his emptiness, is as exquisite as Zach remembers.

" _Perfect_ ," Chris groans, and Zach echoes him, "perfect," because there's no other way to describe what it feels like to have Chris buried as deep as physically possible inside him, this joining the most natural alignment his body has ever found with someone else.

Chris slides out, dragging Zach's breath out with him. He pushes back in, begins setting a deliberate rhythm. Zach's hands spread out again over Chris's body, incessantly moving and tracking the shifts of muscle beneath the skin as Chris fucks him, as he raises his head or Chris lowers his and they kiss hot and messy.  

Gently, Chris's hand caresses down Zach's ribs, a sweeter touch than the firm, measured filthy way he's fucking Zach, before he suddenly pulls out completely.

" _What_ ," Zach cries out, stomach wrenching in shock, twisting with that loss, but Chris is flipping him over, flat onto his stomach, sliding an arm under Zach to keep him restrained against Chris's body as he drives back into Zach with a primal grunt of satisfaction, shoved to the hilt again as smooth as a key fitting perfectly into a lock.  

Zach plants his moan into the pillow, trying to jerk his hips against the sheets to get more friction against his throbbing cock, but not getting anything beyond short, teasing sensations with Chris keeping him down.

Chris tucks his face into the point where Zach's neck and shoulder meets, mumbles, "Gonna stay like this for a while," and nuzzles the skin there, sucks at it briefly. "I missed your ass. Feels so good around my cock."

Zach arches feebly into him, just to feel more acutely how much Chris just does not budge for him. "Thought it was my wit and razor-sharp intelligence that kept you around."

"Those too, but mostly your ass."

"Well, my ass didn't miss you."

It earns him a snort and a, "Liar," punctuated with a thrust that catches Zach's prostrate and makes him moan and jerk again. "See?" Chris says, low and smug.

Zach doesn't reply because yeah, he is a liar and there are better things to think about right now, namely Chris and the scorching, heavy, immovable length he is on top of Zach, surrounding him like a fortress and a furnace. Zach just stays there, narrows himself down until all he's feeling is that bulky, unyielding containment, the strength and masculine power behind it, the deep, steady thrusts that chip away at his sense of time, his sense of anything that's not Chris. Things are ablaze inside him and Zach lets himself relax into those flames, that sweet, sweet, all-encompassing burning Chris stokes in him so easily.

"Chris," he murmurs drowsily. "Mm, Chris."

"Yeah--“ breath hot against Zach’s ear, voice so assured of what he’s doing to Zach, “--yeah, baby, you're really fucking hot for it, aren't you. For _me_. Look at how you just take it."

"Guess the smokin’ hot new bod -- shit, _do that again_ \-- can stay."

"Keep talking like that and I'll start thinking you just want me for my looks."

"Consider your dick in my ass recompense for your hurt feelings."

Chris chuckles. “I’ll consider considering that.” His teeth nip at Zach's earlobe and the sharpness of that abruptly brings Zach's attention back to his aching cock, his tight balls.

“Meanwhile, you can try actually _fucking_ me,” Zach says, aiming for a demand, falling half into a whine, but it works -- Chris finally shifts, hauls them both up onto their knees and nails Zach with a thrust that strikes clean into his prostate and beyond, vibrating right into Zach's core. Zach falls forward onto his hands as much as Chris's arm lets him, clutching the sheets with white knuckles as each thrust that follows is relentless and near brutal, a single-minded barrage designed to give Zach everything he asked for and ruin him in the process.

"Yeah," he pants out brokenly, "yeah, yeah, pound me," pushing back into those rough thrusts, heat sizzling in his belly, his thighs, across everywhere their skin slip-slides as if the sweat beading all over them is flammable. Chris closes a hand around Zach's dick, squeezes in time with a perfectly aimed thrust, and Zach's throat fumbles its next breath, the orgasm punched out of him, a surge of sparks setting off and prickling through every inch of him.

Chris just keeps going, fucking him through it, his cock slamming into Zach more insistently now in pursuit of his own release. "So tight-- I'm so close."

“Then come in me," Zach says breathlessly through his sensitivity, his hole still convulsing around Chris. "Come in me, Chris, fill me up. Show me how much you missed my ass.”

“Where else,” Chris says, thrusting sharp on both words, the raspy growl to his voice catching deliciously against Zach's skin, “where else would I come, Zach, if it’s not inside your ass? Unless it’s fucking dripping with my spunk all night, I’m not done with you, baby. Never done with you.”

Zach groans, looks out from under his heavy lashes at the arm Chris has nearest to him, braced on the bed to keep his balance, its flexing muscles. An impulse flares up in him that he doesn't waste time resisting, pushing himself forward to lick a hot line over Chris's biceps, bite into them so they sharply contract even more in surprise. Chris barks out unintelligibly and comes almost instantaneously, driving into Zach as far as he can go on his final thrust, staying there like he's asserting his possession somewhere too deep for anyone to erase.

His face drops against Zach's shoulder and they stay like that for a few minutes, just panting raggedly, collecting themselves.

Gradually, Zach forces a more even rhythm onto his heavy breathing and shoves together the shattered pieces of his coherency. "You done manhandling me? Did it satisfy your alpha male? Improve your self-esteem?"

"Satisfied a whole lot more than that," Chris replies as he hauls them onto their sides, away from the wet spot.  His softening dick slowly slips out of Zach's ass and Zach shivers, his hole tightening down around the absence involuntarily.  

“You’re changing the sheets,” he says. “I hope you know that.”

Chris hums. “Not the one who made the mess.” With more post-sex eloquence than most people Zach has encountered, Chris adds, “May have instigated 'n precipitated the events surrounding the creation of the wet spot, but I, myself, was not the one who came on top of the sheets.” He presses his face against the side of Zach’s neck; Zach feels the curve of a cocky, satisfied smile. “Besides, we’ve still got round two left--" a blunt nail scrapes quickly over Zach's left nipple and Zach hisses, "-- _with_ foreplay this time.”

“Round two," Zach agrees, his dick already twitching with interest. "Then shower, _then_ you change the sheets. I’m invoking the ancient law of my fucking house, my fucking rules.”

“I humbly accept your terms.” Chris curls further into Zach like a too-warm crescent moon. His mouth brushes against Zach’s skin softly, then slightly more deliberately, a truer kiss. He mumbles, “Five more minutes.”

After a moment’s thought, Zach tangles his fingers with the ones Chris is resting over Zach’s stained stomach and closes his eyes. Five more minutes.


End file.
